Nostalgic longing rises in me again, wishing for the family I had before my father’s stroke.
Shaking my melancholy away, I exit the house and quietly shut the door. As I look at the front gates, I remember the guards, and my apprehension rises, wondering again why my father has armed guards. I know they all weren’t my father’s men last night, and several were here because of Emanuele and Vincenzo, but still, my questions and unease remain.
I walk down the stairs, careful not to slip on the smooth marble, then go down the gravel driveway. As I get closer, I see only one guard—but one is enough to stop me from leaving if he wants to. I contemplate my strategy in case he tries to prevent me from leaving.
“Morning,” I say pleasantly with a big smile. “I’m going for a walk and need you to open the gate.”
I use assertive words rather than asking permission. The guard is the one who had replaced Davide when he had walked me to the house. His dark sunglasses hide his eyes as he looks at me; however, I can already sense his refusal before he speaks.
“You can’t go out on your own, Miss Caruso.”
I shield my eyes against the glare of the sun. It’s bright out, but not nearly as warm as I thought it would be. “I’m just going for a walk.” I point at the residential street, lined with other houses much like this one. “It’s perfectly safe.”
It’s not, even I know that. Not when your father is involved in the mafia, even if he’s not high up.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you,” the guard insists with a hardness that tells me I’m not sweet-talking my way into convincing him.
Tears of frustration burn, threatening to fill my eyes. I’m not usually a crier, but with my lack of sleep and melancholy, I’m more emotional.
“She’s with me, Leandro,” a deep voice says.
I whip around to where the voice came from.
Tommaso.
Christ, he looks amazing for six in the morning.
He stands outside of the gates. Where the hell did he come from?
“Of course, Don,” Leandro agrees immediately, reminding me that all the men around my father work for this man. He’s the one in charge.
Something swirls in my stomach as I look at Tommaso, and I shift uncomfortably at the tingle in my core. Even though I’ve never experienced it before, I know this is attraction and lust I’m feeling. For the first time, my body is awake and aware of the opposite sex.
Wants the opposite sex.
But not just anyone. Him. Tommaso Santoro.
The man could have anyone, so why would he want you?my inner critic warns.
Still, the way Tommaso is looking at me—like he wants to eat me for breakfast—tells me he does, in fact, want me.
He schools his expression before turning back to Leandro and motions for him to open the gate. Leandro jumps into action without hesitation or question.
I step through without looking back, not wanting to risk this newfound freedom. Tommaso smiles as he stares down at me.
God, he’s tall. And broad.
“Good morning,piccolo sole.”
Little sun.
His speaking Italian reminds me of what I noticed last night; that his accent, like Silvio’s, is quite faint. Marco’s was slightly heavier but not as heavy as Vincenzo and Emanuele’s, or my father’s.
A blush heats my face as I can only stare up at Tommaso, trapped in the ocean of his startling crystal-blue eyes.
“Come with me?” He holds out his hand, and I can’t help but notice the scars running over it.
This man is a mafia don; he’s done ruthless things—I know this even if I don’t know any details. He’s deadly, dangerous. Absolutely lethal.
